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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23027845">Illusions of Safety (Delusions of Danger)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidfish/pseuds/Voidfish'>Voidfish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Delusions, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Psychosis, projection fic lol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:00:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23027845</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidfish/pseuds/Voidfish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse had come and gone, and Dipper and Mabel were scheduled to leave the Falls tomorrow. Stanley was safe and his memories almost completely returned (there were a few spots that he said were still blurry but, he confided to Ford, he wasn’t sure if those memories were ever going to return, and he was even less sure if he wanted those memories to begin with). Even Fiddleford was okay, the man’s own memories returning and stabilizing at an alarmingly fast rate. </p>
<p>Everyone he cared about was safe, and things were okay, and Stanford Pines was curled up, shaking, in his bathroom.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ford Pines &amp; Stan Pines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Illusions of Safety (Delusions of Danger)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is based on my own experience with psychotic subset of PTSD, and since Ford's my projection character and he has so many psychotic symptoms in canon, I wanted to write this. </p>
<p>This was originally 500 words. oops.</p>
<p>Warnings for mentions of torture and delusions, including belief that the people around you have been replaced.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stanford Pines has always prided himself on his logic. Over the years he had spent in the portal, running from outlaws or governments, training to beat Bill, he had mastered control over his emotions. There was a time and place for everything and he was no help to anyone if he let fear and anger and pain paralyze him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanford Pines prided himself on his logic, yes, but then why was he so afraid?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The apocalypse had come and gone, and Dipper and Mabel were scheduled to leave the Falls tomorrow. Stanley was safe and his memories almost completely returned (there were a few spots that he said were still blurry but, he confided to Ford, he wasn’t sure if those memories were ever going to return, and he was even less sure if he wanted those memories to begin with). Even Fiddleford was okay, the man’s own memories returning and stabilizing at an alarmingly fast rate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone he cared about was safe, and things were okay, and Stanford Pines was curled up, shaking, in his bathroom. The man tucked himself securely in the corner, eyes glued on the locked door. He rocked, softly back and forth, to calm himself down. He whispered reassurances. It did not help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone was okay, he reminded himself. Bill is dead, he told himself. And yet, his brain whispered to him, how did he know that everyone was okay? Was he sure that this wasn’t one of Bill’s lies? And wouldn’t that be just like the dream demon, to create a false, perfect world in order to torture Ford? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that was the problem - it was too perfect, too wonderful, it was too much of all the things that Ford didn’t deserve. It would hurt, Ford thought to himself, when the illusion fell apart and he was back to the cold, harsh reality that there was no one he could trust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered who was out there playing the part of his family - were they taken from his memory, illusions that Bill had created of everything he secretly craved? Or were they actors, too?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill is dead, he tried to remind himself, but even that felt shallow. No, Ford shook his head, Bill wasn’t dead because just minutes beforehand Ford had heard him, had heard the distinctive laugh bouncing around the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. “Ford,” the thing with Stanley’s voice said, “You in there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford covered his mouth, holding shaking breaths in. They had found him, somehow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything okay?” The creature clarified, fake worry mixing into his voice. Ford felt sick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of all of Bill’s tricks and illusions, this was the most cruel. To make him think that things are okay, that he has his brother, his family, only to take them away. He wished the betrayal would come already - it would be easier than sitting here, waiting for the shoe to drop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine. Go away,” Ford said, trying desperately to hide his terror. It worked - his voice was steady and hollow. He hoped that it would be enough to fool Bill’s goons.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was not. “Bullshit,” Not Stanley said. “You’ve been there like thirty minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit. Of course these creatures would notice his absence, especially when they were in charge of looking after and monitoring him. What was it they were after, anyway? Were they just here to torture him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the formula, Ford realized. The Theory of Weirdness Magnetism, the one Bill had electrocuted him for. He felt sick. He must be back at the Fearamid, limp body shackled, dangling from the ceiling as Bill let his body rest and tortured his mind instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t have it,” Ford blurted out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Not Stanley said, confusion clear in his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The theory. I know that’s what you want.” Ford said, gaining confidence. “You can’t have it. I won’t give it to you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What theory?” The acting was quite impressive, Ford had to admit. He could hear the confusion, the disbelief, the tint of fear in the creature’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give up the act,” Ford said, curling closer into himself and scooting further from the door. “I know it’s you, Bill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not Stanley was silent for a second. “Ford,” he said, finally, “where do you think we are?”</span>
  <span>There was something in his voice that made Ford pause. There was confusion, still, but more than anything there was worry. There was fear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanley said the only time he heard Bill afraid was when he begged for his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re in the Fearamid,” Ford said. “In my mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not Stanley breathed in deeply, a great big sigh. “We’re in the shack,” he said, voice gentle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford shook his head quickly. There were tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “No,” he said, voice soft.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ford,” Not Stanley begged, “Bill’s dead. I killed him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Ford said, louder this time, lurching forward. “No, Bill’s not dead, because I heard him, I heard his laugh. Bill’s not dead and you’re not real and I won’t give you the formula so you might as well kill me already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ford,” Not Stanley begged. “Ford. Bill is dead. And you wanna know how I know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford shook his head, silent. Tears were falling freely now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know Bill’s dead,” Not Stanley continued, “because if he were dead why would I be able to tell you, in detail, how I killed him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In order to lure me into a sense of security,” Ford said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And why would I have killed him,” Not Stanley said, “if I wanted something out of you. Wouldn’t it make sense to tell you what you would wanna hear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford paused. That would make more sense, but…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still,” Ford said, “I heard him laugh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And,” Not Stanley kept speaking, “if this was fake wouldn’t I have admitted and given up by now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford had wondered the same. There was a feeling of hope blossoming in his stomach. He tried to stifle it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not asking for the formula. I don’t want it.” Possibly Stanley said. The man took a deep breath before speaking. “And fuck Bill Cipher.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford let out a humorless laugh. “Fuck Bill Cipher,” he repeated, almost to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanley, the real Stanley, spoke from the other side of the door. “Ford,” he said, “what else can I do to prove to you this is real?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford shook his head, uncurling. “I believe you,” he said. “Even if it proves to be a mistake later, right now, I believe you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanley laughed, a relieved sound that brought the ghost of a smile to Ford’s face. “You don’t gotta come out yet,” Stanley said, “but I’m glad you’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford nodded. “I’ll open the door in just a minute,” he said. Even if he was going to believe Stanley, he was still anxious at the prospect of opening the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would me just talking help?” Stanley offered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford smiled, just a little. “Actually, yes. That would be a huge help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect,” Stanley said, happiness clear in his voice. “So I was talking to the kids about what they want for their last meal in the Falls and Mabel was suggesting instead of breakfast for dinner we do dinner for breakfast, and I said…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford let the words wash over him and relax him. He found himself untensing, and instead of sitting in a curled up ball he was sitting, feet outstretched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But the problem with glitter chicken is more the glitter than the chicken,” Stanley continued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford stood up, humming in agreement in time to the conversation. Cautiously, as if crossing a minefield, he made his way to the door and opened it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There, standing on the other side, was Stanley. Ford could see from this close the worry in his eyes, could see the folds and dirt spots on his worn shirt, see the bags under his eyes from years working on the portal and the gratitude in them as Ford pulled his brother in a warm embrace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Ford said, voice thick. “Thank you, for helping me through that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anytime, poindexter,” Stanley replied. “Anytime at all.” The two moved apart. “Do you know what that was, anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford frowned. “I heard...well, I heard something, and it sent me into an episode where I believed I was back in the fearamid. Besides that, I’m unsure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said you heard </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>laugh,” Stanley supplied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford sighed. “Yes. I did. And I’m still unsure why exactly that was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanley frowned for a moment before turning to Ford. “You’ve ever hallucinated?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Ford couldn’t help but be taken aback. “I’m not crazy,” he insisted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Course you’re not crazy,” Stanley persisted. “But my question still stands. Ever hallucinated?” There was a pause between them when Stanley spoke again. “I have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Ford asked, trying to hide his surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanley smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah,” the man said, “after I got kicked out I got ‘em bad. Would hear pops or someone else shouting my name but no one was there. Kept thinking someone was following me but no one was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you get it to stop?” Ford’s voice was small, almost fearful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I distracted myself, mainly,” Stanley admitted, “which I would not recommend. And I’m on meds now, which helps.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think I hallucinated Bill, triggering a delusional episode,” Ford said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanley nodded. “You got a better explanation?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Ford sighed. He took off his glasses, pinching the  bridge of his nose. “I’m afraid that makes the most sense, at the moment.” Now that the episode had passed Ford felt shame starting to bubble up. “It felt so real.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Stan said. Ford looked up at him. “You ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of, okay?” Stanley said. “We’re gonna figure this out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford nodded. In the moment Stan could have said that they were going to steal the moon and Ford would have believed him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can call and get you an appointment with a psych or a therapist later,” Stan continued, “but right now I’m feeling like Stancakes. You want some?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stanford looked behind him at the bathroom, the fear fading even more as he closed the door and followed Stanley downstairs, the sounds of the twins greeting him. “I would love that.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed! I'm on tumblr at Dissociateddisaster</p></blockquote></div></div>
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